


A Day at the Beach

by astudyinlestrade



Series: A Day at the Beach [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beach Sex, Fluff, M/M, Smut, [almost]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinlestrade/pseuds/astudyinlestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One lovely Valentine's Day, Greg takes Mycroft to the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day at the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> This is an askfic written for Eva [evawrites | tumblr].
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. I apologize for any errors. As much as I would love to, I don't own Mycroft or Lestrade. They belong to the geniuses Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

“Do tell me, Gregory, what is the point of the blanket if the sand will get into my shorts anyway?”

Greg tutted and continued unloading the car. Blanket? Check. Picnic basket? Check. Hand sanitizer? Check. Towels? Check. Lint roller [Mycroft insisted]? Check.

“Calm down, My. Picnics on the beach are fun! Haven't you ever been to one when you were a kid?” Greg pushed the blanket and towels into Mycroft's hands and carried the rest onto the soft sand.

“Thankfully not. I see no point in such pursuits. However, I agreed to come only because you insisted that we spend this Valentine's Day differently.” Mycroft neatly placed the blanket on a flat-ish area and began to spread it while Greg unceremoniously dumped what he was carrying on the blanket, ensuring that the basket land upright. “Well, you on a secret government mission in god knows where and me watching crap telly and eating takeaway just wasn't cutting it.”

“Uhm…I think I’m forgetting something…I’ll be right back. Could you start unpacking the food, love?” After ruffling Mycroft’s hair, Greg jogged back to the car, turning around to see Mycroft pouting and attempting to restore his hair back to its original state without a mirror. Greg chuckled to himself as he got out a beach umbrella and pocketed his Valentine’s Day gift.

He locked the car and walked back to the picnic, only to see that Mycroft laid out and arranged the food on the blanket as if he had set a table. After setting up the umbrella, he sat next to Mycroft and pinched his cheek, earning another pout.

“Oh, you’re adorable when you pout like that!”

With an indignant huff, Mycroft handed Greg his sunglasses. “I. Do. Not. Pout.” As if on cue, they put on their shades and stared at the horizon.

“Beautiful view, isn't it, My?”

Mycroft turned to his boyfriend, wrapping an arm around him. “Gorgeous.”

Greg rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and wrapped both his arms around his body, pulling him in closer. They stayed like that, unmoving, looking at the sea and the sky and the clouds until suddenly – SPLAT! Mycroft flinched and looked down at his arm [the one not wrapped around Greg] as his eyes widened. “GREGORY!”

Greg got up, grabbed a towel, and proceeded to wipe the bird droppings off Mycroft’s arm. “It’s okay, My, it’s not so bad, really. That’s what the towels are for! Okay. Let’s eat now, yeah?”

“Yes, dear. Give me a moment, will you?” Mycroft fished his phone out of his pocket, pressed a number, and held it up to his ear. “Ah, Anthea! Yes, everything’s fine. Could you inform Scientist Three to create a seagull poison of sorts?”

Greg snatched the phone out of Mycroft’s hand just before he hung up. “Hello, Anthea! Yeah, it’s me. Don’t listen to him. He just got a bit of guano on his arm and he’s completely overreacting. Yeah, everything’s fine. Bye!”

He crossed his arms and held his phone out of Mycroft’s reach. “What did I tell you about bringing your work with you during Greg-and-My time?” God, sometimes Greg just felt like a father to Mycroft. He could be just as petulant as his little brother.

“I apologize, Gregory. That was rather insensitive of me.” He watched dismally as Greg put the phone in his pocket.

“S’all right, dear. Let’s eat, yeah?” They had a generous helping of potato salad – “Sod the diet, My! You’re gorgeous!”

After their lunch, feeling lazy, they laid down on a beach towel side by side under the shade of the beach umbrella for what seemed like hours, interrupted only by Greg removing his shirt and tossing it aside, which was one interruption Mycroft gladly welcomed. After a while, Greg and Mycroft ended up on their sides, facing each other. Mycroft traced his hands up and down Greg's torso, and Greg drew slow circles on My's back under his shirt.

At one point, Greg decided that enough was enough and straddled Mycroft on the towel. “We...we seem to have forgotten the sunscreen at home, Gregory...”

“Oh, sod it.” And Greg closed the distance between them, his lips on Mycroft's, his tongue slipping into My's mouth, his fingers tangled in Mycroft's hair.

Greg wasn't sure how far he would take this. Frankly, he didn't care. He didn't mind being written up for indecent exposure. Not because it wasn't something that he hadn't been through before, but because Mycroft would be with him, and that made anything worthwhile. So he felt perfectly at ease when Mycroft pushed down on Greg's lower back, rubbing their half-hard cocks together and enticing breathy sighs from both of them. Greg built up a rhythm as he trailed his tongue down My's neck.

It was only when Greg pulled the waistband of My's pants to just below his cock that Mycroft began to feel very uncomfortable. He felt a strange, annoying, grating sensation in his arse. His mind, fuzzy from the arousal, took its time in figuring out what the cause was, but as soon as it did – “Greg. Gregory. Gregory! The SAND!”

Greg pulled away, thoroughly disappointed at nothing in particular. “Fine, yeah. We'll save this for when we get back home.”

“But I still have sand...everywhere!” They stood up and shook the sand off themselves. “This is why I insisted on bringing my lint roller, Gregory.” Mycroft picked up the lint roller and slowly removed the sand from Greg's shorts and Greg reciprocated, dragging the roller across the back of Mycroft's shirt.

After removing most of the sand, Greg tossed the roller aside and put his hands around Mycroft's neck. “You're a bloody genius, you know that?” Placing a peck on his nose, he got down on one knee.

“Mycroft, the past three years have been absolutely crazy. But they’ve been the best three years of my entire life. I love you to bits and pieces and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” As Mycroft's eyes widened, Greg pulled out the present he had pocketed earlier: a velvet box. He opened it and held it out to Mycroft. “Will you marry me Mycroft?”

Without a moment's hesitation, Mycroft pulled him up and snogged the breath out of him before finally pulling away.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

The kiss threw Greg off-balance, making him almost drop the box with the ring. After Mycroft’s reply, Greg felt in the box for the ring, but came up with nothing. “There’s supposed to be a ring in here...Where the hell did that ring go?” Mycroft saw a glint of gold on the sand nearby. But they weren't the only ones who saw that ring. A seagull was flying overhead when the gold caught its eye, prompting it to dive down.

“The seagull, Gregory!” Mycroft and Greg sprinted toward the ring.

Greg ran faster than he ever ran before, even faster than when he chased the most heinous criminals he ever encountered. He leaped onto the ring and caught it, scraping his arms, torso, and knees in the process. He got on his feet and raised both hands in the air.

“YES, I caught it, My!” But just as he was about to jog back to Mycroft, the seagull swooped down and snatched the ring out of Greg's fingers, its talons drawing blood from his hand in the process. “FUCK YOU, YOU FLYING PIECE OF –”

Mycroft appeared at Greg’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Gregory, do not worry. We can simply buy another ring. Now let me see your hand.”

“It’s all right, My, just a scratch.” Greg took Mycroft’s phone out of his pocket and dialed a few numbers.

“Gregory, what are you doing?”

“Calling Anthea to tell her to go ahead and make the bird poison.”

Mycroft put his hand over his phone and slowly lowered it.

Greg sighed. “I’m sorry, My. I should have listened to you. I should have picked a better place to propose. God, I can be so stupid sometimes–”

“What do you mean? The entire day, this, everything has been so wonderful. Gregory, all I need to be happy is you. By my side.” Mycroft cupped Greg's cheeks and gave him a soft, airy kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you too, My.” Greg pulled the taller man toward him and wrapped his arms around him. “Happy Valentine's Day, Mycroft.”

Mycroft pulled away from Greg and kissed his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Gregory.”

They headed back to their picnic site, hand in hand, walking along the shore. They packed their things and loaded them into the car. Greg took the wheel, and they began their long drive back to London.

“Silver or gold, Gregory?”

“Hmm?”

“Our rings. I’d like to start looking for them as soon as we get home.”

“Can we look for them tomorrow? Chasing seagulls has made me a bit tired.”

“Whenever you'd like, my love.”


End file.
